Weaknessklok
by sillynekorobs
Summary: Short, drabble-ish scenes of Dethklok at their not-so-metal best. Some are funny, and some downright cute. Because no one can be brutal ALL the time.
1. Sticky Situations

AN: Some short, sweet, drabble-type thingies. Because I've never done any before, and I wanted to, for laughs and metal-ish cuteness. So there.

Characters: Everyone belongs to Small & Blacha. I get no profit from writing this, just amusement.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

**Sticky Situations**

- - - - -

Nathan Explosion was throwing an unholy fit. "SCRATCH! Scratch NOW!"

Startled beyond questioning Murderface did as he was told, quickly removing the companionable hand he had dropped on a craggy shoulder and frantically scratching the singer's broad back instead. "Uh, here?"

Nathan wriggled and thrashed, but made no move to reach his own back. "No, lower, lower than that, no, upupupupUP you (_guitar bleep!_) moron to the left, more left, up a little—! Okay. Okay. That's the spot. Thank you."

After a few more moments Murderface stepped back, scratching confusedly at his own shaggy head. "Scheesh! What the hell wash that about?"

With great indignation, Nathan turned away from the table and defensively held up his freshly blackened fingertips. "My nails are tacky!"

- end -


	2. Skwisgaar & Toki's Infinite Playlist

**Skwisgaar & Toki's Infinite Playlist**

**- - - - -**

"Isn'ts it cool, Skwisgaar?"

"Ja, sure is." For once, the blonde's tone was neither mocking nor patronizing as he admired the shiny black and silver ipod Toki was showing him. "How long does de batteries lasts?"

"Dey goes for eight hours wit'out needings de charges." Toki proudly scrolled through the menu. "It gots pictures, video, and it holds thousands of songs! I never runs out of good music to listens to!"

"You gots to run out of music even-tuallies, little Toki." Skwisgaar smiled slightly. "Even if you gots every song in de worlds on dat t'ing, you listens to dem all and runs out sometime."

Toki frowned for a moment, fiddling with his earphones. Then he smiled brightly. "Buts we ams musicians, Skwisgaar. When we gets to de end of de music, we just makes more! Den we never runs out!"

The Swede chuckled. "I guess dats is true."

"Ja, is true!" Enthused, Toki leapt from the sofa with his earphones in place and long hair flying, looking for all the world like one of the goofy commercials that had inspired him to buy the little gadget in the first place. "We makes kick-ass music until de ends of time!"

Catching the enthusiasm bug, Skwisgaar laughed and fired off a lightning fast riff on his Explorer. "Sure. Forevers!"

"Jesus, you guys! That's sickening!"

The two guitarists jumped at Nathan's bellow. Apparently the singer's tolerance limit had finally been reached. He grimaced as if their little performance had put him in physical pain, a truly terrifying expression.

Pickles shuddered. "Yeah! That is like, _the _gayest damn thing I've ever heard you guys say. And that's sayin' somethin'."

"Shomebody, quick. Take the shtupid ipod—it'sh giving them weird ideash. Weirder than ushual."

Toki sniffed, turning his back on Murderface and primly adjusting his earphones. "Humph. Dey ams just jealous."

- end -


	3. Laughing Out Loud

**Laughing Out Loud**

- - - - -

Nathan stopped mid ramble, mouth still open. Something wasn't right. With an annoyed snort he turned to face his markedly silent manager. "You're not even listening to me, are you." It wasn't a question.

Ofdensen quickly looked up from his laptop screen. "Of course I am."

"No you're not. You're doing something on the computer."

Charles sighed. "Nathan, as I'm quite sure I've already told you, this is very important business related—"

Nathan had drifted closer to the desk. Suddenly he stopped short, a huge grin breaking across his scowling face. "Oh my God, you're looking at LOL cats."

Obviously startled, Charles looked taken aback. "What? No I'm not."

"You are too!"

"Nathan, that's absurd. You aren't even in a position to see the screen. How do you presume to know what I am or am not looking at?"

The singer smirked. "I can see the screen reflecting in your glasses."

A laptop was immediately slammed shut. "I don't care what you think you saw, but I assure you that I was not—!" Then Charles paused suspiciously. "Wait. How do you even know about LOL cats?"

Nathan suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Um. So, what was that business you were working on?"

It was Charles' turn to smirk. "That's what I thought."

- end -


	4. Murderchef

**Murderchef**

- - - - -

It was getting up on 4:00 a.m. when Pickles wandered into the kitchens, lured by the combination of a sweet scent in the air and the promise of fresh booze in large, well stocked liquor cabinets. The bottle he held was almost empty. His curiosity had also been piqued, drunk as he was. What was that awesome smell, and who could be making all those bangs, clangs, and clatters so late at nigh—er, early in the morning? Reaching the kitchen door, he peeked inside.

"Murderface? Dood, it's really late. What're ya doin' down here?"

Startled, the bassist glanced up from a mixing bowl he was attacking with incredible vigor. He was covered in flour from head to toe and had a less than manly apron tossed on haphazardly over his usual clothes. A sour glare aimed itself at Pickles as the surprise wore off and the drummer began to snicker.

"I'm not doing anything. Get your boozsch and get losht."

"Ya are too doin' somethin'." Shoving the door fully open, Pickles did exactly the opposite of what he had been told to do and sauntered in. He surveyed the bowls, trays, heaps of dry ingredients, broken eggshells, and sticky mixing apparatus that littered the marble-topped island counter. "I didn't know ya knew how ta bake."

"Yeah, well. If there'sh one thing my old hag of a grandma'sh good for, it'sh a deschent chocolate chip cookie reschipe."

"Sure smells good…" Pickles wandered closer, a considering look in his eye. To try one or not…? "Why so late?"

"Ish it a crime all of a shudden for a man to want a shtupid cookie at four in the morning?!"

"Not really. Just askin.'" Very casually the drummer stole a cooling cookie off the corner of a sheet of waxed paper and nibbled. There were at least four dozen of the things, and more seemed to be in the oven. "Dood. Why'd ya make so many?"

"Jeesch, what ish thish, twenty queshtions?" Despite his grumpy tone, Murderface allowed a crooked grin. "I guessh I forgot that the reschipe makesh enough to feed an entire church congregation."

Pickles laughed somewhat drunkenly, wedging the remainder of the cookie into his mouth. It was a pretty darn good cookie. "Y'could… ya could give a mess of 'em ta Toki. He'd love these things." Crumbs sprayed everywhere as he talked. Hmm. Now he didn't want booze anymore… a glass of milk would be better.

"Yeah, I guessh sho. Jusht can't tell him who made 'em—he'd think I poishoned 'em or shomething. But now I gotta finisch up before Jean Pierre comesh in to make breakfasht and getsh a load of thish messch. Shcram, Picklesh."

"Hell, no." To the bassist's infinite surprise Pickles slid out a stool and took a seat at the counter, pulling an open gallon of milk toward himself. "I wanna lick the spoon! Hey—you wouldn't happen ta know how ta make cinnamon buns, would ya?"

- end -


	5. Got Milk?

**Got Milk?**

- - - - -

Skwisgaar sneaking down the hall in the middle of the night was strange. What he was carrying with him while he did so was even stranger.

The world's fastest guitarist, taller than a tree, a Lord of Mordhaus, would never sneak. That he was doing so with a carton of soymilk and a small bowl clutched to his chest made the sight much too intriguing. Nathan simply had to follow.

It was surprisingly easy to slip into the blonde's room undetected, despite the bigger man's size. He watched silently from the doorway as the carton of milk was opened, a serving poured into the bowl, and the bowl delivered to the middle of the bed.

There was a long pause. When Skwisgaar finally spoke softly, the grudging worry in his tone was obvious. "Why yous not eats anyt'ing I gives you? Stupid t'ings… you's gonna starves to your deaths."

Silent as a black shadow, Nathan drifted up behind him. "They're not gonna drink that shit, dumb-ass."

There was an immediate yelp of shock from the Swede, followed almost as quickly by firm denial and sputtered excuses. Nathan tuned him out. Instead he reached out, one massive hand lightly stroking the mewing, multicolored balls of fluff curled together on the white fur coverlet. Still much too young to be without their mother—Nathan would bet anything a groupie was involved in this somewhere.

"Kittens need real milk, Skwisgaar. Not that soy junk."

The blonde pouted. "Hows I supposed to knows dat? Milk is milk."

"Then you go chug some two percent," Nathan said pointedly.

Skwisgaar prudently clammed up.

After a moment of deliberation, the vocalist sighed. "Come on. We'll take 'em down to the kitchens. Maybe Jean Pierre can help. Warm up some whole milk, or something."

"Liddle monsters better not needs a bottle or not'ing like dat. I's not doings it." There was a pause as they carefully gathered the kittens, the sizable litter shared between them. "Hey, Nat'ans? Whats we do wit dem when dey's grown up?"

"Ah, I dunno. Cats are alright. We can keep 'em—so we don't get mice and all. They'll have to learn fast to stay away from the yard wolves, though." Suddenly an evil gleam entered Nathan's eye. Amused, he surveyed their handfuls of squirming, squeaking fur. "Hey, let's go show Charlie. Bet this'll make him LOL."

- end -


	6. Fashionary Discretion is Advised

**Fashionary Discretion Is Advised**

- - - - -

Nathan's deep rumble. "Toki, seriously. Take it off."

"Ja, you looks totally rid-iks-culous." Skwisgaar's snobby whine.

"Really, dood, it looks pretty bad." Pickles' slightly concerned slur.

Murderface's disgusted mumble. "That ish absholutey the shtupidesht thing I've ever sheen."

Ofdensen's discreet cough. "Toki, you're distracting the others, and… well… we really do need to get this meeting underway. Also, it does look rather foolish. Please remove it."

Toki's petulant huff. Finally pulling off the pirate hat made of construction paper, balloons, and macaroni, he dropped it to the side and sank down in his chair with a deep pout. "Humph. Everybodies is a critic."

- end -


	7. Boys Just Wanna Have Fun

**Boys Just Wanna Have Fun**

- - - - -

Strange sounds echoed down the hallways of Mordhaus. Unknown sounds around the vast mansion were not uncommon, but this time the noises gave Nathan Explosion an inexplicable sense of unease. Something wasn't right. The brutality levels in his blacker than the blackest black domain were out of balance.

Stalking through the halls, Nathan tracked the odd noises to Pickles' room. Besides the noise, he could clearly hear laughter and hilarity from behind the closed door. This did not bode well. Without preamble he slammed open the heavy door.

Toki and Pickles froze in a very odd position, eyes going wide. The drummer gulped.

"Uh… hey 'dere, chief."

Nathan stood still in the doorway, face deceptively calm. The silence was highly expectant. "Tell me you two aren't dancing to Thriller. Tell me that. Tell me that and I'll leave, and we'll forget this whole thing ever happened."

"But is fun, Nat'an!" Toki chirped brightly, completely oblivious. As the music played on he dropped his zombie pose to smile winningly at the vocalist. "Pickle ams teachings me all kinds of fun stuffs from de 80's, right Pickle?"

The redhead grinned weakly, visibly wilting under Nathan's glare. "Yeah, sure, kid… lots'a fun…" He absently wondered which Nathan would break first, his vintage boom box or his neck.

Surprisingly, Nathan did neither. With a disgusted huff he grabbed the doorknob and pulled it to, preparing to leave them in disgrace to their 80's dance mix. Then he paused to send one more glare at Pickles. "Yeah, whatever, fags. But I want you to know something. If I _ever_ hear Madonna or Cyndi Lauper from this room…"

The thunderous slam of the door left very little to the imagination.

"Huh." Toki cocked his head curiously, as if completely unbothered that they had only nearly escaped a brutal mauling. "You woulds t'ink Nat'an might like de songs about zombies and demons more dan dat."

"No kiddin', right?" Pickles was already on his knees next to an open drawer. Pulling out a small pile of vinyl records and cassettes, he shoved them far into the dark recesses under the unmade bed. "Sawrry, Cyndi. This is definitely fer the best."

- end -


	8. Detour

**Detour**

- - - - -

"Quits it! Stops touches me, Skwisgaar!"

"You's de one who touches me first!"

"Nei, you's a liar! You touches _me_ first!"

"Doods, knock it off! I'm not part'a this!" Pickles' drunken, petulant whine joined the commotion as the Scandinavians he was wedged between began to slap at one another. Frustrated, he began to hit at both of them in return. "Hey, no hair pullin'!"

"Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it." Nathan mumbled darkly to himself, hands tightening around the wheel, knuckles going white as his fists clenched. "Just ignore it."

"Nat'ans, he's touchings me!"

"Stupid cries-babies, you starts it!"

"Oww! You guys're seriously pissin' me—dood, look what ya did, I dropped my beer! Alright, now it's personal, douchebags!" A third volley of violent slapping immediately joined the first two.

Shoulders hunched, Nathan determinedly kept his eyes fixed straight in front of him. Just ignore it. Seated beside him and looking bored, Murderface casually rammed a fist into the malfunctioning radio. After obnoxious static, an even more obnoxious country western hit blared forth. The volume of screaming from the back began to rise.

"Dat was my freakings _eye_, you liddle—! Nathans, he—!"

"Shit, Nate, would ya _do_ somethin'?! He's got the ice scraper!"

"Stops! Stops it! _Nat'aaaans!_"

A foot, he didn't know whose, connected hard and abruptly with the back of Nathan's seat. With an almighty howl of rage the singer slammed his palm down on the horn, mercilessly blasting its thinly veiled death threat at the long line of stationary traffic in front of them.

"Damn it to hell, whose bright idea was it to all go in the same damn car?!"

- end-


	9. Spiderklok

**Spiderklok**

- - - - -

"Hey, Skwisgaar, you gots a liddle friend!"

The blonde took his bored gaze off Charles and his monotonous charts to glance over at Toki's chipper announcement. "Whats is you babblings about, Toki? I don'ts—gyaaaaaaaahhh!!"

Flinging himself backwards and away from the spider that had let its line down from the ceiling to hang less than an foot from his eye, the Swede hit the ground hard. Upside down in his tipped over chair, he proceeded to thrash and scream brutal bloody mass slaughter while slapping frantically at his own face and hair.

"Is it on me?! Gets it offs me, gets it offs of me!"

"You screams like a lady, Skwisgaar!" Toki cried delightedly as the spider lowered itself to the table, detached from its thread, and scuttled madly across the polished wood.

Charles broodingly watched the unfolding chaos as the unfortunate interrupter of their meeting ran past Murderface's section of table and was neatly skewered on knifepoint. "Allow me to guess, Skwisgaar. You're arachnophobic."

Pickles laughed uproariously as Toki bounced gleefully up and down, shouting "It's in your hairs, Skwisgaar! It's in your hairs! Better smacks yourself real hards!" The blonde continued to scream and flail.

Nathan calmly pulled out his tape recorder. "Idea for a song: spiders in your brain, and, uh, coming out your ears. In your hair. And, uh. Note to self. Buy Skwisgaar a tarantula."

- end -


	10. Prankklok

**Prank-klok**

**- - - - -**

"He dresshed my Schivel War sholdier shkeleton up in that damn clown'sh clothesh!" A large rainbow-hued wig was slammed down on the table to compliment the bassist's snarl of anger.

"Dood, he put superglue on my drumsticks!" Pickles wailed, holding up reddened palms. "I had'a walk around like that fer two hours 'fore I found some acetone! Y'know how hard it was ta hold a bottle?!"

Ofdensen wearily massaged his temples with the tips of slightly greasy fingers. "Someone ordered five hundred pizzas delivered to my office this afternoon. And they all had pickled herring on them. I had to order the Klokateers to eat them all. Half of them are now ill to the point of purging."

"There's a My Little Pony storybook cassette wedged in the studio tape deck!" Knubbler yelled. "It's stuck in there! If I have to listen to that theme song one more time I'll—!"

Skwisgaar couldn't even form words. Not English ones, anyway. He simply screamed incoherently in Swedish, and held forth a honey jar and a shampoo container in hands shaking with rage. Wisely, no one commented on the condition of his formerly gorgeous blonde hair.

"Okay, okay, you guys, I get it!" Nathan looked none too happy himself, having awoken that morning to find that the entirety of his wardrobe of black tee-shirts had been replaced with new garments, pinker than the pinkest pink. It was no surprise that he was currently shirtless. "This has to stop. So here's what we're gonna do..."

Later that afternoon when Toki returned to his room, he found a simple note. KNOCK OFF THE PRANKS OR DEDDY GETS IT!!! A threatening doodle adorned the hastily-scribbled message, and his teddy bear was nowhere to be found. The young guitarist sighed grumpily.

"Nobody has de senses of humor arounds here."

- end -


	11. Hunting Season

**Hunting Season**

**- - - - -**

"Theshe don't look like ducks to me. That'sh all I'm shaying. I'm not shaying it'sh your fault or anything, but yeah. Theshe totally don't look like the ducksh I shpeschifically ordered to be put in the pond I shpeschifically ordered to be made sho I can go duck hunting, ish all I'm shaying."

Nathan, Skwisgaar, and Toki watched curiously and with not a little amusement as Murderface, on his dehtphone, went out of his way to make their manager on the other end of it more and more annoyed. Listening to Ofdensen get progressively more irritated until finally his rising voice could be heard through the phone's small speaker was almost as much fun as blasting ducks on their new duck hunting pond would surely be.

"Okay. Okay, yeah, shure. I guessh we can jusht shettle for blowing up theshe birdsh inshtead until you fix thish mishtake." Ignoring whatever snappy comeback Charles surely had ready, Murderface smugly dropped the phone and without preamble raised his shotgun.

Toki shrieked and covered his eyes as the bassist fired off a round at the elegant swans peacefully gliding across the water—and thusly at Pickles, who was drunkenly and happily preoccupied trying to feed the big white birds bits of his sandwich crust.

Two minutes later...

Charles had arrived to awkwardly comfort the younger guitarist. "There, there, Toki. You can stop crying now. It will be alright. We'll get all this cleaned up, so just don't look at it if it makes you feel too uncomfort—" Loud yelling from the lawn was proving distracting.

"Mother-_douchebag_, ya killed my swahns!!"

Nathan warily eyed the scene as the infuriated and significantly smaller drummer perched on the fallen bassist's chest and proceeded to give Murderface the bitch-slapping of his life. "I guess. I guess I, uh... didn't realize Pickles liked swans so much."

- end -


	12. Sportsklok

**Sportsklok**

**- - - - -**

"Teaches me how to plays footsball, Nat'ans!"

"Uh… right now?" Nathan lifted a brow at Toki and the old football he had dug up from who knew where. "Right here?"

"Yeah! Teaches me how to plays, please?"

"Uh. Sure. Okay." The singer glanced around the TV room with a critical eye. "We might wanna go outside for this, though… Oh, what the hell. This room's big enough. Give me the ball, Toki, and go long."

"Go whats?"

"Go run over there and catch the ball when I throw it to you, dumb ass."

"Okays! Here I goes!" Toki took off, vaulting a low table and racing madly for the other side of the room.

The ball left the vicinity of Nathan's out of practice but still heavily muscled arm right around the same time as Skwisgaar strolled into the room. The first and last thing he saw was the football hurtling toward his face, shortly followed by an airborne Norwegian.

"Oh, (guitar bleep)."

The crash was rather epic. Nathan wisely ignored the shrieks of rage, pain, and pleas for a medic, opting instead to exit the room. It wasn't his problem. And he was right… at least until later that day, when he had to explain to a very annoyed Ofdensen why his lead guitarist appeared for the band meeting in a neck brace and on crutches. Sometimes a band leader's work was never done.

- end -


	13. That Explains a Lot

**That Explains a Lot**

- - - - -

"Silly Toki. Only liddle cries babies cleans dere own rooms when we has de servants to does it fors us."

Skwisgaar smirked as his younger band mate dug under the bed, pulling forth a motley collection of toys, liquor bottles, candy wrappers, dirty socks, guitar strings, and model boxes. The floor around Toki was littered with more of the same.

"Shuts up, Skwisgaar. I cans clean up mine own messes."

"Okay, liddle Toki. You does dat. I's gonna go does somet'ing more fun."

Swaggering smugly for the door, the blonde completely missed the small pouch of glass orbs scattered across the floor. He slid clean across the room, screaming frantically and windmilling his arms, until the warm embrace of Toki's model-building table halted his progress.

Toki grinned goofily down at the pile of stunned Swede and broken desk chair. "Wowee, Skwisgaar. You finds my marbles! I thoughts I loses dose a long times ago."

- end -


	14. Making a Statement

**Making a Statement**

- - - - -

Charles was amazed that the boys had remembered his birthday. He was even more amazed that they had gotten him a gift. That the present in question had not yet exploded, crawled away under its own power, or begun to ooze was nearly mind boggling.

Curiosity finally getting the better of him, the manager pulled the lid off the remarkably ordinary box.

"… funny, boys. Very funny."

Fighting a smile, he pulled out the 'I'm With the Band' tee-shirt.

- end -


	15. Arbitrary Expenses

**Arbitrary Expenses**

**- - - - -**

"Toki? Could you stay behind for a moment? I'd like a word with you."

Puzzled, the rhythm guitarist did as his manager bid, loitering in the meeting room as the rest of the uninterested band filed out to attend to more interesting matters. "Sures. Whats is it?"

Charles looked down at the clipboard he was holding and cut right to the chase. "Were you by any chance in a shopping mall at any time last month?"

"Um... I mights have been. I's not sure. Whys?"

"I was going over the expenditures from our last concert venue and happened to notice a sizable bill was run up on your touring credit card. Apparently it was used at a Build a Buddy Workshop in Houston. Is that accurate? "

The Norwegian paled, then laughed nervously. "Oh, uh, ja! Dat was, uh, just a fun liddle thing. You knows, gets a liddle friend for Deddy Bear. Nothing weirds about dat, rights? Ha ha!"

"Well, no. But it says here another such store was visited two days later in California. And then again the week after in Seattle."

"Really? I don'ts remembers dat! Can we change de subjects?!"

"Do you by any chance recall purchasing a Viking outfit, a pajama set reading 'Guitars Rule,' and a small plush guitar, all in stuffed animal size?"

By this time Toki had buried his blushing face in his hands. The silence stretched. "Please don'ts tell Nat'ans."

"If these are legitimate purchases and your tour card was not in fact stolen by an eight year old then we have no need to talk about this further, much less mention it to Nathan. You can go now, Toki, thank you."

Relieved, Toki scuttled from the room. Charles looked down at the clipboard and sighed. No, he wouldn't squeal on Toki. Not when he was pretty sure that Nathan's last visit to the shop in question (and the purchase of a teddy bear sized microphone and biker gear) had been much, much more recent than the dumping of his latest girlfriend.

- end -


	16. Forms of Torture

**Forms of Torture**

- - - - -

Toki screamed bloody murder. Then he burst into howling laughter. Then he began to shriek again, high pitched enough to crack the windows—or snap a guitar string. Skwisgaar glared.

"Would you knocks dat offs alreadies?!"

Both Toki and Murderface looked up from the floor, the bassist slightly bemused and the rhythm guitarist panting desperately for breath. Toki squirmed weakly, rendered helpless by laughter as Murderface's fingers dug back into his ribs.

"What? He shaid he'sh never been tickled before, sho I'm jusht showing him what it feelsh like. He likesh it, shee?"

"You's gonna makes him piss his pants."

"Yeah, I hope sho."

Finally given a moment to breathe, the Norwegian gulped air like a fish out of water. Then he looked back up at the bassist, a goofy grin spreading across his beet red, tear-stained face. "Again! Does it again!"

Murderface obliged. Skwisgaar listened to the renewed squeals for about a minute. Then, with a shrug, he tossed aside his Explorer. An evil smirk in place, he pounced into the fray. When you can't beat 'em… tickle 'em 'til they piss themselves.

- end -


	17. In Hot Water

**In Hot Water**

- - - - -

"I can'ts find mine guitar!" Splashes were heard as Skwisgaar huffily fumbled for his lost Explorer.

"Hey, look on the bright side. It's technically soap, right? Murderface is touching soap. That's gotta be a good thing."

Unlike Nathan, the bassist didn't seem to see the good in the situation. He glared as best he could, trying to keep his face pointed upwards. "Shut up, jerk. Thish better not get in my eyesh."

"Okay, I definitely can't see." No one could see Pickles, either, as the small redhead and his margarita glass had completely disappeared under the massive amounts of bubbles frothing up from the roiling depths of the hot tub.

Toki rubbed sheepishly at the back of his head as the mounds of foam crept ever higher. "I guess puttings de whole bottle of bubbles bath in dere wasn'ts such a good idea, huh…?"

- end -


	18. Lost in Translation

**Lost in Translation**

- - - - -

"Ready for your bedtime story, you little wuss?"

"Ja, I's ready." Toki contentedly snuggled into bed, Deddy Bear under one arm and a big smile on his face. He had spent a week pestering Nathan to read him a children's story in English, and the front man had finally agreed simply to stop the yammering. "Go aheads, Nat'an."

"Okay." Nathan situated the book in his hands, adjusted his reading glasses, and began. "So once upon a time there was this pig who didn't want to get eaten. 'Cause that's what happens to pigs, right, they die and get eaten. Anyway, the pig didn't want his fat ass turned into bacon, so he conned a spider into helping save his worthless hide."

"Oh, I likes de spiders!"

"Shut up and listen, Toki."

"Oh, okays."

"The spider was a little wise ass and decided to write words in its web yapping about how great the pig was. The pig wasn't that great at all, by the way. But everybody who saw the spider's web was all, like, 'Whoa! This pig's possessed by the devil! We better not eat it!' So they didn't eat the pig."

"Wowee!"

"I know, right? Well anyway, spiders don't live very long, so the spider died. Nobody really cared, though, 'cause the pig didn't get eaten and that's what this story is about. But since the pig didn't get eaten, it kept on living and eating and got morbidly obese. Since, y'know, it's a pig. And pigs are fat."

Toki nodded very seriously.

"One day this pig had a massive heart attack. It was seriously brutal. And they put the pig on a heart monitor and waited for it to die. Then the spider's ghost came down on a ghost spider thread from the ceiling. The heart monitor lit up and said: SOME PIG. Then the pig died, too. The end."

Toki blinked a tear from his eye. "Wowee… American kids' stories sure ams brutal."

"I know, Toki. I know."

- end -


	19. Sparkle

**Sparkle**

- - - - -

A mass murder had occurred in the main television viewing area of Mordhaus. That, or the men of Dethklok had extended hot wings night into binge drinking until everyone passed out cold night. Nathan was remotely glad it was the latter as he weaved unsteadily through the scattered bodies of his unconscious band mates. The sofa seemed infinitely more appealing than thoughts of the trip upstairs to his room did.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, the front man caught sight of something that held his drunken attention. A tiny pinprick of light from the floor near the couch he had mentally claimed as his own. He tilted his head and it disappeared. Another tilt brought it back.

"Wha' the hell?" It couldn't hurt to check it out, pending he didn't fall on his face in the attempt.

Upon reaching the spot, Nathan found it to be otherwise occupied. Pickles was curled on his side, wrapped in seeming contentment around a mostly empty bottle of Patrón. One wiry arm was stretched out before him, limp hand narrowly missing a derelict plate covered in smears of Explosion Sauce and the remnants of wings. And there, on the drummer's wrist, was the source of the mystery.

Peeking out from under one of the usual ratty blue wristbands was something that sparkled. Nathan leaned down as far as he dared and grabbed for it curiously, tugging it upward along with his friend's unresisting arm for a closer examination. Damned if it wasn't a rubber bracelet, something a twelve-year-old girl might drag home from the capsule candy machines at the shopping mall. It was bright, transparent blue. Hollow, tube-like, the space inside filled with water and flecks of foil glitter that swirled and caught the light from the lamp near the sofa.

Nathan stared, willing himself not to go woozy as he watched the hypnotic dance of the little floating flecks. Where the hell had the thing come from? Was the redhead just waxing nostalgic? The singer had always harbored suspicions that not every trace of sparkle had been banished from Pickles' life since his glam days, but this glittering monstrosity was an affront to the metal factor of everything in its immediate vicinity. Even if it was clearly supposed to be hidden beneath the casual cover of a wristband. It had to go.

Hooking one finger under the rubber loop, Nathan prepared to give one good pull. Then he paused. Pickles slept on obliviously, pulse rhythmic and easy under Nathan's grip. He had a small smile on his face.

The burly singer sighed, letting the limp arm flop back to the floor. "Damn it. Prob'ly get, uh… glitter all over everything. If it broke. That would suck. Have to set everything on fire to get it off." Definitely not worth it.

Stepping over Pickles, Nathan fell decisively across the sofa. There he would stay until he was darn well good and ready to get up—most likely a dozen or so hours later. Before he closed his eyes, though, a final glance was directed at the floor.

"For the record," he growled, more at the cheerfully sparkling nemesis still plainly visible than the slumbering drummer attached to it. "This never happened."

- end -


	20. Separation Anxiety

**Separation Anxiety**

- - - - -

"Just lets me sees her," Skwisgaar whined pitifully, hands flat against the glass wall of the locked recording booth. "Just for a seconds! I needs to know she's okays!"

Outside, the remainder of the band stared silently.

"Please! Why's you doinks dis to me? Dis is cruel and ins-humans punishment!"

No reaction from the four faces without.

The Swede began to swear violently, banging on the thick glass with both fists. "Yous dildos, you can'ts keeps me locked in here forevers! I'll gets out, I'll gets back to her, you'll sees! You can'ts keep us aparts! I loves her, I needs her like air! I—!"

Very slowly, Toki lifted the black and white Explorer from under the mixing deck and into view.

Skwisgaar calmed instantly, slumping against the wall as his crazed expression melted into one of relief. "Dere you ams, poor baby! Is dey beings mean to yous? Is you missinks me as much as I misses yous?"

Toki lowered the guitar. The shrieking, cursing, and banging resumed full force.

"Sooo." Pickles cleared his throat from the small couch at the back of the room, one wary eye on the tantrum going on behind the glass. "Is this little experiment a failure or a success?"

"It'sh shad, is what it ish. That guy hash shome sherioush isshuesh." Murderface shook his head in mock pity.

"Yeah, and he's only been in there an hour." Nathan's green eyes gleamed with sadistic glee. "Let's wait and see how he is tomorrow morning."

- end -


	21. Crime and Punishment

**Crime and Punishment**

- - - - -

"I want to know who is responsible for this, and I want to know right now."

Charles did his best to keep his tone and expression neutral. Hands clasped behind his back in a businesslike manner, he surveyed the five men before him. Up against the wall of the board room, all in a row, they resembled nothing so much as suspects in a police lineup.

Toki was actually giggling, one hand clapped over his mouth in a futile bid to stem the flow of playful sounds. Skwisgaar bore his ever-present smug smirk, today somehow even more cockily than usual. Pickles' familiar crooked grin seemed to stretch from ear to ear, his green eyes glinting brightly, quick and sharp—free for once of the haze of liquor and substance abuse. Nathan's smile was nearly feral, teeth bared in wicked delight as he elbowed Murderface and sniggered conspiratorially. Murderface's own sly smile clearly showed the gap between his front teeth as he returned the comradely shove.

Charles cleared his throat and took one hand from behind his back to hold out the evidence, hanging from the tip of one finger. "Well, boys? Anything to say?"

The hoots and howls of laughter, valiantly checked thus far, burst forth unrepentant at the sight of the red satin man-thong that had fallen from the CFO's briefcase in full view of high end media representatives from four continents and nineteen separate countries. Pickles nearly doubled over, holding his sides as he laughed helplessly, while next to him Toki clutched Skwisgaar's arm for support. Nathan had one arm around the bassist's neck and looked to be unintentionally choking him in his hilarity.

It was harder than it should have been for Charles to hide a smile of his own. "Well then. No hookers and ice cream for a week."

- end -


	22. Mordhaus Idol

**Mordhaus Idol**

Nathan had known—known!—that the karaoke machine was a bad idea. He willed himself to sink into the sofa as his rhythm, lead, and bass guitarists stared in drunken awe at the spectacle before them.

Up on the table in precarious fashion, a rousing rendition of "Hungry Eyes" was being performed under heavy influence. Pickles, soaring with the aid of what could have been anything from crack to horse tranquilizers, was good. Charles, liquored up far past the point of "sloppy," was more than enthusiastic. Nathan was close to scandalized.

"Take it, Nate'n!" the drummer yelled suddenly as the final chorus reared its hideously romantic head.

As his face was abruptly filled with unwanted microphone and all eyes landed on him, Nathan Explosion flushed impossibly red. "Oh, (_riff_) you!"

"Then it's my turn!" Apparently unable to wait any longer Knubbler seized the mic and scrambled onto the table, knocking both drummer and manager to the carpeting with a matching pair of thuds. "Oh, man, I've been dying to do this one all night. Like a viiiiiirgiiiiin—!"

Nathan left the room.

- end -


	23. Squeaky Clean

**Squeaky Clean**

"Doods, he wants ta know why we took his Rolls Royce." Pickles held one palm over the mouthpiece of his Dethphone and looked back at his bandmates. "He sounds pretty pissed."

Nathan grunted in concentration. "Just, uh… just tell him the truth, then."

"Oh, ja! Tells him, Pickle!" Skwisgaar laughed in the most evil of fashions, nudging Nathan in the ribs.

"Well, okee." The drummer took his hand away and addressed the phone again. "Charlie, listen. About yer car…"

In the background Murderface screeched his rage to the world as the aforementioned car, the roof of which he happened to be duck taped to, was slowly drawn into the dark, lathery interior of the Speedy Scrub Car Wash. Toki, sitting in the driver's seat for the duration of the ride, laughed gleefully and honked the horn.

Pickles grinned. "Don't you worry, Charlie. We're gettin' it nice an' clean."

- end -


	24. With a Bang

**With a Bang**

**- / - / - / - / -**

"Cans we, Charles, please?" Toki was nearly bouncing. "Cans we? Is almost darks!"

"Well…"

"Come on, robot, the kid'sh been waiting all day!"

"Yeah, let's do this! This is gonna be brutal!"

"We waits long enoughs, lawyers-man."

"Lighten up, dood, let's do it!"

"Please please please?"

Toki's puppy eyes finally sealed the deal. Charles turned in his lawn chair to survey the squad of fire trucks and medical vans hovering watchfully behind the patch of lawn that the boys had claimed for the evening's entertainment. All precautions had been taken. Everything seemed to be in order.

"Well…" The CFO allowed himself a small smile. "I suppose so. Go ahead, boys."

With a collective whoop of excitement, the world's most brutal band sprinted for the stacks of packing crates they had been eyeballing all afternoon: packing crates specially imported from China, each one stuffed to the brim with highly explosive and largely illegal fireworks.

"I get dibs on the flashing strobe rockets!"

"Not if I get to 'em firsht!"

"Which box has de Romans' candles-sticks, Skwisgaar?"

As cheerful shouting and the expectant flicking of five individual Zippos broke the stillness of the evening, Dethklok's manager settled back in his chair in relative contentment, took a calm drink of lemonade, and put in his earplugs.

- end -


	25. Buy It Now

**Buy It Now**

**- / - / - / - / -  
**

"Hey, Pickle?" Toki hunched over the keyboard, staring intently at the computer screen.

"Yeah?"

"How does you say dat something ams pretty not worths much, but ams still kind of nice to looks at?"

"Hmm." The drummer thought it over, swiveling the umbrella in his drink as he lounged across the sofa. "I guess ya could say it's got aesthetic value."

"Ooh, I likes dat!" There was a click-clacking of keys. "Um. Spells it for me, Pickle?"

Pickles did.

"Thanks. How woulds you say dat it's is a good idea to buys something because you woulds be more popular and people would wants it froms you and you coulds maybe sells it again somedays?"

"That's called a good investment. One'a them things Charlie's always goin' on about."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks you, Pickle." More fingers on keys. There was a longer pause. "Hey, Pickle?"

"Yeah."

"Does you thinks it ams okay to says 'big dumb mans-whore sluts' in—"

The redhead was already off the sofa and leaning over Toki's shoulder, scanning the screen incredulously. "Toki, dood. Even if ya sell Skwisgaar on eBay, he's still gonna be a faster guitarist than you."

Norwegian curses could be heard from the room for some time after.

- end -


	26. Necessary Evil

**Necessary Evil**

**- / - / -/ - / -  
**

"Ams we almost there, Nat'an?" Toki chirped from the sidecar as the Murdercycle careened down the road.

"Uh, sure," Nathan growled back. "Any minute now."

"Oh, good! I's so excited! You ands me never gets to go nowhere together, so this is gonna be real cool! I can't waits to pal around wit my good buddy Nat'an, and—"

The huge bike made a sharp turn into a complex of buildings and parking lots before skidding to a stop in front of one building in particular. Nathan killed the ignition. "We're here."

"Reallies?" Toki frowned and cocked his head, looking up at the establishment's sign. "Dis doesn't look like no candy store I's ever…" Suddenly the Norwegian gasped in horror, the reason for the sign's being shaped like a tooth finally dawning on him. "You trickeds me, Nat'an! Dis is de dentists!"

"Yeah, I know. I had to do it, so you gotta do it. Now don't be a wuss. It's gotta be done or all your teeth will fall out from eating all that stupid candy."

Toki screamed bloody murder as he was seized in a no-nonsense manner, dragged all the way inside, and pinned bodily to the reception desk. Nathan wasn't amused.

"Toki Wartooth to see the… the, ah, the guy. The tooth guy. The dentist."

An elderly receptionist adjusted her glasses and looked up the file. "Of course. And you are here with him, Mr. Explosion?"

"Uh, yeah. How'd you know my name?"

"A Mr. Ofdensen called earlier to say that you would be in as well. According to your records, you're due for another cleaning and a set of X-ray—Mr. Explosion? Mr. Wartooth?"

Nathan and Toki screamed a bloody murder duet as they bolted back to the Murdercycle, each fighting for the lead.

- end -


	27. In the Spirit

**In the Spirit**

It wasn't often that Dethklok's CFO could be shocked. That he could be shocked into dropping something was unheard of. And yet there he stood in the doorway of the meeting room, the disgorged contents of his fumbled briefcase washing over his well-polished shoes, as he stared at the scene before him.

The boys were carving pumpkins on the board meeting table.

"Check it out. This one's you, Pickles." Nathan grinned as he turned his pumpkin to show off his handiwork: it was indeed a decent facsimile of the drummer, carved dreads and all, and it was puking up its own insides. The goop was making a stain on the tabletop.

"Hey, screw you!" Pickles laughed, grabbed up a handful of stringy orange glop from his own pumpkin, and threw it at the singer.

Toki looked up, giggling, and saw Charles. His face lit up in a delighted smile that highlighted the pumpkin seed he had stuck in his fu manchu. "Charlies, you's here! Looks at my jacks-o-lantern, Charlies. I mades a clown!"

"I can, uh, I can see that, Toki. It's very nice." Charles cleared his throat and came forward to the edge of the table, trying to stuff the flyaway papers back into his briefcase. The chances of holding this meeting successfully had just dropped from slim to nil. "I wish you guys would have put down some newspapers or something before you—"

"Heres is your pumpkin," Skwisgaar interrupted, plunking a large one down in front of his flustered manager. "And heres is a pen sos you can do de draws-ink on it before you cuts it. Murdersface, gets him a knifes, ja?"

"Shure. Here ya go, Robot."

Charles was rather pleased to notice that while the bassist's pumpkin looked like it had run afoul of Freddy Kruger, Murderface himself seemed to be free of fresh lacerations. So did the rest of the band, a small miracle when each of them was wielding a sharp object with enthusiasm.

"Listen, boys, I'm very flattered that you included me in your plans, but we really do need to get some of this work out of the way before we—"

"PUMPKINS!"

There wasn't a lot to be done against a death-metal chorus like that, or against five pouty frowns and sets of eyes boring into his very soul. So, Charles did what any reasonable manager would do. He looked down at his pumpkin, rolled up the sleeves of his suit, and got to work.

- end -


	28. Secret Identity

**Secret Identity**

"You have to wear a costume." Nathan's growl allowed no argument. "You have to. Everyone else is wearing a costume!"

Charles adjusted his glasses with a sigh. "You're all wearing costumes because you're going on stage on All Hallows Eve, Nathan. I am not going on stage, so it doesn't make sense that I—"

"But you has to, Charlie!" Toki's werewolf paws, custom sewn to allow his fingers freedom of movement to play his guitar, made a grab for the manager's lapels. "You's part of de family! We all gots to does it!"

Pickles frowned. "Yeah, Charlie, don't you wanna be part of our family?"

In the back of his mind Charles made a mental note to have sandpaper or the like glued to the redhead's slick rubber swamp creature gloves before the concert, or he would never be able to keep a grip on his drumsticks. "I think you all know that this has absolutely nothing to do with how much I do or don't like you boys."

Toki whimpered, the wolf ear headband tilting on his head so much that for a moment he looked like a sad puppy. Skwisgaar was trying to frown exaggeratedly without his vampire fangs poking into his bottom lip. Charles sighed.

"It's just that I'm already wearing a costume." At the band's blank stares, he gestured down at the same suit and tie he wore each day. "I'm Clark Kent."

"Oh." Nathan's eyes suddenly lit up in realization. "Oh! Oh, yeah! You totally are! That's awesome!"

"Not bad, not bad at all." Murderface nodded approvingly. "But next year you've definitely gotta go ash a robot."

"Whos is Clark Kent?" Toki asked with a puzzled tilt of his head that send his wolf ears completely lopsided. Skwisgaar shrugged.

"Dood, dood, hold still." Pickles tugged off one of his gloves with his teeth and proceeded to pluck a lock of hair loose from Charles' carefully combed forehead, then twist it into the shape of a well-known curl. "There, that's totally better. Yer so smart, Charlie!"

Charles smiled, very briefly but very heartfelt. "Why, yes. Yes, I am."

- end -


	29. Same As It Ever Was

**Same As It Ever Was**

- / - / - / - / -**  
**

"You take that back, ya coked-up douchebag!" The infuriated scream ricocheted around the tiny kitchen, unmistakably that of a redhead on the warpath.

Sammy grinned, fists perched jauntily on the waist of his ripped jeans. "Why should I? It's true and you know it—shorty."

With a shriek of rage, Pickles seized a skillet off the hot stove and flung himself at the blonde. Two fried eggs and a slice of bologna fell to the grungy floor with a soft plop and sizzle. "Yer gonna die, Twinskins!"

Sammy prudently turned and ran. He zipped down the hall of the apartment and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him just before skillet met wood with a solid clang.

Back in the kitchen a tall, purple-haired man stood bemusedly before the empty stovetop and scratched absently under his top hat with the handle of a spatula. "Dude, Pickles. Those were my eggs."

"Sahrry! I'll bring it back in a sec!"

Sighing wistfully at the loss of his dinner, Tony wandered into the living room with a newspaper under one arm and piece of toast hanging from his mouth, leaving the eggs on the floor and ignoring the sounds of his singer beating down their bathroom door with a cooking implement. The place was a wreck anyway, and they had already caused so much damage that their security deposit was a thing of the ancient past.

Flopping back on the tattered sofa, Tony flipped open the paper. If Snakes n' Barrels was going to continue to rise in popularity and make it big, then they had to keep getting gigs. The papers were good about advertising clubs and bars looking for bands. Pulling an ink pen out from under his hat, he began to scan for likely leads.

"Christ, I can't take it anymore!" The bathroom door opened with a clatter and Sammy came stumbling out, coughing. Immediately the smell of hairspray invaded the rest of the apartment, to the extent that the resident roaches were probably running for cover to escape the impending chemical warfare. "What the hell, Snizzy! That shit's probably galvanized your lungs by now!"

"It's not like I can help it, okay? It's my style." Bullets' massive waves of brown hair bounced into view for a moment as he reached out to pull the door shut. "And knock next time before you come freaking out in here, yeah?"

"Whateve—aaah!"

With a war cry Pickles leapt from the shadowed hallway and slammed into the distracted blonde, the forgotten skillet dropping to the already-dingy carpet to leave a greasy smear. In seconds a tangle of kicking, punching, slapping, hair pulling, screaming, cursing red and blonde collided with the sofa, fell over the back of it, and tumbled down on top of Tony.

"Damn it!" Tony yelled as what was left of his toast fell to the paper in his lap and they all wound up on the floor in a heap of tangled hair and bony knees and elbows. With a quick lunge he secured the combatants, one of their necks under each of his strong arms. "Will you idiots knock it the hell off?"

"Oww!"

"Shit, Tony, let go!"

For a moment it seemed that there would be serious consequences for their behavior. For just a moment. Then the purple-haired man grinned, the one visible eye under his crooked hat softening with amusement and affection. "I swear to God, if I didn't love you crazy twerps so much. Now… kiss and make up."

- / - / - / - / -

"For de last time, Skwisgaar, I's not a lady!"

"You's a lady ands a cries-baby ands a dildo!"

"Grraaaahh!"

Skwisgaar screamed as Toki tackled him to the floor and blows began to exchange faster than hot stocks on Wall Street. Murderface meandered over and began to add to the carnage with well placed kicks at the thrashing mass of miffed Scandinavian honor. Just because he could.

"Will you morons knock it the hell off?" Nathan bellowed, glasses slipping down his nose as he scowled from the hot tub. "This is the third time today! If you're gonna do that then get out of here, away from me!" His massive hands were clenched on the sides of his floating laptop's screen in his annoyance as he turned to the entirely relaxed redhead next to him. "Jesus. They're driving me up the wall. How do you stand it, Pickles?"

Pickles considered, head cocked to one side as he observed the tussle across the floor. Toki was biting Murderface's ankle rather viciously, taking the resulting punches to the head like a trooper. Skwisgaar was curled in a ball holding his privates and emitting a high pitched squeaking noise in his agony.

A half smile formed on the drummer's face. "Got me, Chief. Ya got me."

- end -


End file.
